His was Octavian's prosperous star, His, Scipio's virtue; his, the skill His was a Trajan's goodness, - his And righteous laws; The arm of Hector, and the might The clemency of Antonine, Firm, gentle, still; The eloquence of Adrian, And Theodosius' love to man, And generous will; In tented field and bloody fray, The faith of Constantine; ay, more, The fervent love Camillus bore His native land. He left no well-filled treasury, He heaped no pile of riches high, Nor massive plate; He fought the Moors, and, in their fall, City and tower and castled wall Were his estate. Upon the hard-fought battle-ground, And there the warrior's hand did gain And if, of old, his halls displayed So, in the dark, disastrous hour, After high deeds, not left untold, In the stern warfare, which of old 'T was his to share, Such noble leagues he made, that more And fairer regions, than before, His guerdon were. These are the records, half effaced, Which, with the hand of youth, he traced On history's page; But with fresh victories he drew Each fading character anew In his old age. By his unrivalled skill, by great And veteran service to the state, By worth adored, He stood, in his high dignity, He found his cities and domains But, by fierce battle and blockade, By the tried valour of his hand, His monarch and his native land Were nobly served ; Let Portugal repeat the story, And proud Castile, who shared the glory His arms deserved. And when so oft, for weal or woe, His life upon the fatal throw Had been cast down; When he had served, with patriot zeal, Beneath the banner of Castile, His sovereign's crown; And done such deeds of valour strong, That neither history nor song Can count them all; Then, on Ocaña's castled rock, Death at his portal came to knock, With sudden call, Saying, "Good Cavalier, prepare With joyful mien; Let thy strong heart of steel this day Put on its armour for the fray,— "Since thou hast been, in battle-strife, So prodigal of health and life, For earthly fame, Let virtue nerve thy heart again; Loud on the last stern battle-plain “Think not the struggle that draws near Too terrible for man, - -nor fear To meet the foe; Nor let thy noble spirit grieve, And yet its glory far exceeds That base and sensual life, which leads "The eternal life, beyond the sky, Wealth cannot purchase, nor the high The soul in dalliance laid, -the spirit "But the good monk, in cloistered cell, And the brave knight, whose arm endures "And thou, brave knight, whose hand has poured The life-blood of the Pagan horde 66 O'er all the land; In heaven shalt thou receive, at length, Cheered onward by this promise sure, Depart, thy hope is certainty, The third-the better life on high "O Death! no more, no more delay; My spirit longs to flee away, 66 And be at rest; The will of Heaven my will shall be, I bow to the divine decree, To God's behest. 'My soul is ready to depart, No thought rebels, the obedient heart Breathes forth no sigh; The wish on earth to linger still Were vain, when 't is God's sovereign will That we shall die. "O Thou, that for our sins didst take A human form, and humbly make Thy home on earth; Thou, that to thy divinity A human nature didst ally By mortal birth, |